


Singularity

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: AU, Art, Chemistry, F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Quatre is a good wingman, Science, Threesome, Threesome - M/M/M, drunken sexy times, ex-lovers now friends, i mean. maybe it's not weird. to each their own, nanocarbon black, paint pigments, singularity - Freeform, sober sexy times, weird art, what are these tags
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-03-31 01:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13964544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: Dr. Trowa Barton has a problem - he's this close to figuring out the secret to manufacturing a nanocarbon black pigment that could compete with Vantablack.But he's also hit a dead end, and he's tired and maybe a night of drinking beer and painting Beagles is exactly what he needs to get his research back on track.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fanfic of… reality. This is loosely the story of Singularity, a black nanocarbon pigment created by a lab in Boston. I first heard about Singularity on an episode of the Art History Babes - go listen to them, they are amazing and this episode (from early March 2018) is killer and I swear, most of what I’m writing in this, actually happened. I’ve changed the names of some things - like the lab that developed Singularity - and futzes with the timeline of reality. I feel unspeakably ridiculous writing this, but if you listen to the real story, you would feel equally compelled I’m sure.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N2: I don’t know anything about science things. I’ve done a scant bit of research and I have a scant background in textiles and pigment history and theory but I’m no scientist and I don’t have the time to do proper research.
> 
>  
> 
> A/N3: All the thanks to Ro and CB, who are amazing and put up with me SOMEHOW despite the fact that my writing attention span is absolutely ludicrous.
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: language, sex, drinking, art things, science things
> 
>  
> 
> Pairings: 2x3, 2x3x5, 2x5, 3x5, past 3x4, others will be updated

 

  
  


_ Singularity _

 

Chapter One

 

It had been Quatre’s idea. Actually, it had been Quatre’s  _ threat. _

 

_ Get out of the lab and go relax - or I’ll make you _ had been the exact words that the blond-haired tyrant had delivered when he stopped by Trowa’s station on Tuesday night and found Trowa, safety glasses straps practically embedded in his skull and hair completely askew, still bent over his desk and trying to make the damn fiddly pigment  _ bind _ to a plastic surface.

 

When Quatre had found Trowa in the same position the following night, he had walked over, slapped Trowa’s hands down, and forcibly dragged him from the lab and instructed Abdul, the head of security and someone that Trowa had considered a  _ friend, _ not to let Trowa back into the lab before eight the next morning.

 

Thursday, Trowa had been  _ escorted  _ from the premises by Abdul, who ignored Trowa’s glares but at least had the grace to look apologetic as he stood there and waited for Trowa to get into his Subaru station wagon and drive off. 

 

On Friday, Quatre had strolled into Trowa’s lab at 7:30, smile on his face and fitted jeans on his slim hips and a faded Berkeley t-shirt on his chest that Trowa was fairly certain had been filched from his own closet when he and Quatre had dated years ago.

 

“Come on,” Quatre said.

 

Trowa didn’t move an inch, but he did arch an eyebrow at his employer. He wasn’t sure if Quatre could even see the gesture under the safety goggles and whatever the fuck his hair was doing.

 

“You can’t live in this lab, Trowa. You need to get out.”

 

“I need to get the pigment to bind properly, or everything we’ve worked on for the last nine months will be for  _ nothing  _ and-”

 

Quatre held up a hand to forestall Trowa’s words. 

 

“I know,” Quatre said in that voice that only he could do - somewhere between soothing and amused, confident and sympathetic, as if he fully understood the problems of the world and knew he would solve them, and wasn’t it hilarious that other people actually felt anxiety. “And we will get it to work. But you’ve been at this nonstop for two weeks now. You need to get out. You need a night away from this and-”

 

“Quatre, when you hired me to develop a black pigment that was just as good as Vantablack, you didn’t put into my contract that I needed to ‘relax’ - you  _ told _ me that you had government contracts relying on this and-”

 

“And I do, and we  _ will _ make it work. The NASA rep is coming next week. When he gets here, we’ll-”

 

“Next  _ week, _ ” Trowa repeated, letting that sink in, sitting perfectly still while his gut lurched and his breath caught. 

 

Quatre made a frustrated growl in the back of his throat.

 

“Trowa, put down the eye dropper, and take off your glasses and your lab coat.”

 

It was Quatre’s most commanding tone, and it sent a shiver down Trowa’s spine.

 

Quatre liked to be in control, and Trowa liked to be controlled. That had been why they had been so damn good together, back in grad school. But that had been years ago, and they weren’t lovers anymore. Trowa worked for Quatre, and he had a job to do.

 

“Quatre-”

 

“Trowa. Now. Or I’m going to fire you.”

 

The look in Quatre’s eyes and the set of his jaw made it perfectly clear that he meant it.

 

With a frustrated growl of his own, Trowa stood up and angrily pulled off his safety goggles. He pitched them across the room, feeling only a moment of satisfaction when they hit the wall next to Quatre’s head. And then Quatre arched an eyebrow at him and Trowa flushed, feeling like a teenager, and sedately took off his lab coat. He folded it up and set it on his desk.

 

Quatre nodded.

 

“Better. But you still look…”

 

Quatre walked over to Trowa, stopping just in front of him, and reached up. 

 

Trowa held himself still while Quatre’s nimble fingers worked his tie loose and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his blue dress shirt.

 

“Roll up your sleeves,” Quatre instructed.

 

“What-”

 

Quatre arched an eyebrow, and Trowa closed his mouth, pinching his lips together and following the instructions.

 

“Satisfied?” Trowa asked.

 

But Quatre was still frowning.

 

After a moment, the shorter man licked his palm and raised it towards Trowa’s face.

 

Trowa caught Quatre’s wrist in his hand.

 

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

 

“Your hair is a  _ mess, _ and my hair gel makes your hair look greasy, and I know  _ you _ don’t have anything to help so just let me.”

 

Trowa sighed and released him, and Quatre made a great show of trying to set Trowa’s hair to rights.

 

Stubbornly, his hair insisted on falling forward, nearly covering one side of his face, and Trowa had to smirk at Quatre’s huff of disappointment.

 

“Fine. It’s fine. You look fine. Now come on or we’re going to be late.”

 

“Late for what?” Trowa demanded, but Quatre didn’t answer.

 

Instead, he led Trowa through the empty halls of Winner Labs and to the parking lot, where only a handful of cars remained, including Trowa’s Subaru and Quatre’s red Tesla convertible. 

 

“Come on, I’m driving,” Quatre waved Trowa away from his car.

 

Trowa didn’t like not driving, especially didn’t like not driving when he had no idea of what Quatre’s plans would be, and therefore no quick escape. He made sure the Uber app was up-to-date on his phone. 

 

He got into the car and had barely put on his seatbelt before Quatre was throwing the car into gear and squealing tires heralded their departure from the lab.

 

Traffic was uncharacteristically clear for a Friday night, and it felt like almost no time at all before Quatre pulled into a parking deck in downtown Boston and put up the hood on his car.

 

Trowa looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was a true disaster now, and he tried to finger comb it into something that didn’t resemble a windswept troll doll’s locks.

 

Quatre, defying physics, looked perfectly coiffed as he got out of the car and grinned at Trowa.

 

“Ready to have some fun?” he asked Trowa.

 

“You still haven’t told me what we’re doing,” was Trowa’s muttered response as he fell into step with the other man and they left the parking garage.

 

“You’ll see,” Quatre responded.

 

That Quatre led them to a bar wasn’t all that surprising - they had, after all, met in a bar at grad school. It had been trivia night, they had both been drunk, and they had both called the guy hosting the trivia event on the fact that he had the wrong answer recorded for ‘what country had the first policewoman?’ as the UK when, as both Trowa and Quatre pointed out loudly, it was the USA. For their troubles, they had been banned from the bar, but it hadn’t seemed like much of a hardship at the time, considering that they had only three blocks to stumble before they were climbing the stairs to Quatre’s apartment and proceeded to spend the rest of the night fucking on the floor.

 

That Quatre led him into a  _ dive bar _ was surprising. Quatre had standards, for all that he liked to pretend he was a man of the people, and he had strong feelings about dark interiors and sticky surfaces. 

 

“Quatre, why are we-”

 

Trowa stopped talking when he realized that not only was this a dive bar, it was a dive bar hosting an art class.

 

He glared at Quatre, but the other man was smirking broadly, clearly delighted with himself.

 

“What is wrong with you?” Trowa sighed.

 

“Nothing, and after a night of drinking and painting, there will be less wrong with  _ you _ .”

 

Quatre dragged Trowa to the back of the bar, where a ring of easels was set up around an oversized red velvet footrest. And on the footrest was a dog.

 

A beagle, if Trowa wasn’t mistaken.

 

Trowa gave Quatre a look, but he only shrugged.

 

“You like animals,” Quatre reminded him.

 

Trowa opened his mouth to retort, but stopped, words dying on his tongue as a long-haired man walked over to them.

 

His hair was a rich, dark brown that was streaked with gold even in the dim lighting of the bar, and tied back into a braid that dangled over one shoulder. He was a few inches shorter than Trowa, but taller than Quatre, and he looked lean and muscular and entirely too damn sexy in jeans that were flecked with pain and worn through at the knee and a baseball shirt that probably fit him properly when he was in middle school and now stretched across his chest in a way that almost managed to make Trowa not roll his eyes at the Red Sox logo on the center of it. The man’s jawline was strong, his lips wide, and his eyes dark and blue and sparkling. He wasn’t handsome, not in the sense that Quatre was, with features that looked as though they had been selected for aesthetic perfection. No, this man was both less attractive and somehow  _ more _ attractive than Quatre.

 

And then he smiled at them, and Trowa tripped over his own feet.

 

Quatre steadied him with a hand on his arm and an arched eyebrow, and the man’s smile slipped a fraction.

 

“Alright there, buddy?” he asked in a voice that had just the barest hint of an accent to it. A Southern accent?

 

“I’m fine,” Trowa assured him.

 

The man gave a slow, measured nod, and Trowa knew that he was being written off as a weirdo.

 

“Well, are you two here for Beagles and Beer?” the man asked.

 

_ Beagles and Beer? _

 

“We are!” Quatre said with a bright smile of his own. “I’m Quatre, and this is my friend, Trowa.”

 

“Great to meet you. I’m Duo Maxwell, and I’ll be supervising this shindig. We don’t officially get started for another ten minutes, so why don’t you grab a brew and say hello to our model of the night, Maggie.”

 

He hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the beagle on the footstool. She looked up at them with large, disinterested dark eyes.

 

But then Duo whistled, and she rolled off the footstool and obligingly trotted over.

 

Quatre gave her a cursory pat on the head, but Trowa couldn’t resist kneeling down and greeting her properly.

 

He let her sniff the back of his hand, and once she had given him a considering lick, he ran his hand over her ears and down her back.

 

Trowa found a spot just behind her left ear that had Maggie leaning against his knees, tongue out and eyes regarding him fondly.

 

Above him, Duo chuckled.

 

“Normally, we have rules about getting too friendly with the models, but Maggie seems quite taken with you.”

 

Trowa looked up at the other man, taking in the crinkles around his eyes and knowing that the smile he wore now was real, not the salesman’s grin from earlier. 

 

It was really unfair for someone that handsome to have something as annoying as a Red Sox t-shirt on.

 

He would look, Trowa knew, far better with it off. 

 

He felt his cheeks heat at the direction of his thoughts, and looked back down at Maggie. 

 

“She’s a good dog,” Trowa said.

 

“You a beagle lover?”

 

Trowa shrugged one shoulder.

 

“He likes all animals,” Quatre answered for him. “He’s even had pet squirrels.”

 

“One squirrel. And Abigail wasn’t a pet. She fell out of a tree as a baby and needed-”

 

Trowa stopped explaining when he saw that both men were wearing identical looks of amusement.

 

“Anyway.” He gave Maggie one last pat and stood up, “I like dogs, but I’ve never had one.”

 

“You want this one?” Duo asked, still grinning. “She hogs the bed, sings when I’m in the shower, and her farts are the most wretched stench you’ve ever encountered.”

 

“Wow. She sounds perfect. What’s the catch?”

 

Duo chuckled at Trowa’s response.

 

“What are you in the mood to drink?” Quatre asked Trowa.

 

He shrugged. 

 

“Not any of those IPAs you like.”

 

Quatre rolled his eyes and nudged him in the ribs before he walked over to the bar, and left Trowa standing in front of Duo and trying his best not to stare.

 

But he had just discovered that Duo had freckles, a little trail across his nose and just under his eyes.

 

“Are you an artist?” Trowa asked.

 

Duo’s lips worked for a moment, but then he nodded.

 

“Something like that, yeah. This is something I do for fun.”

 

“And for money,” Trowa hazarded.

 

“Well, yeah. Gotta pay my bar tab somehow. And buy food for Maggie.”

 

“This is really your job?” Trowa looked askance at the ten easels set up, and noticed for the first time that they had to be custom-made - each of them had a cup holder built in to hold a glass or bottle of beer. 

 

“One of ‘em, yeah. Didn’t you know, teaching drunk people how to paint dogs is like the best way to become a millionaire.”

 

Duo was still grinning at him, slight creases around his eyes still begging Trowa’s fingers to smooth the skin.

 

He hadn’t even started drinking yet, and he was already having ridiculous fantasies about a complete stranger he had just met five minutes ago.

 

It was that, more than anything else, that made Trowa realize he really had been working too hard. He couldn’t remember the last time he had slept for more than four hours, and he definitely couldn’t remember when he had last had a meal that wasn’t partially or entirely from a vending machine.

 

Quatre reappeared and handed Trowa a chilled glass of something amber and frothy.

 

He took a hesitant sip, and sighed in relief when he wasn’t overwhelmed with a bitterly hoppy aftertaste.

 

“Alright, I’m gonna leave you two to get settled and welcome the last of our artists.” Duo gave Trowa’s arm a squeeze as he walked past them, the fake grin back on his face, and greeted a man and woman who had just walked in.

 

“He’s cute,” Quatre said, following Trowa’s gaze to Duo’s ass.

 

“He is,” Trowa agreed. “You’ll have to tell me what he’s like in bed.”

 

Quatre scoffed and glared up at him.

 

“I didn’t say he was cute because I wanted him -  _ you _ should try to-”

 

“Try to what? Invite him back to my mess of an apartment and fall asleep in the middle of going down on him because I’m exhausted and a complete disaster?”

 

“You aren’t a complete disaster,” Quatre muttered.

 

Trowa arched an eyebrow in dissent, and they sat down behind two open easels. 

 

“Good evening, my budding Picassos!” Duo moved to the center of the circle, slowly walking around the ring of easels and looking at each of the ten people, half of whom looked just as uncomfortable as Trowa was, while the other half looked as enthusiastic as Quatre was.  “Tonight, we’re going to relax, enjoy some of the Hedgehog’s finest, and paint some masterpieces.” 

 

He winked at Trowa while he said the last part, and Trowa pointedly refused to look in Quatre’s direction.

 

“Before we begin to paint our lovely model, my best girl, Maggie, let’s do a few warm-ups. I’m going to pass around some drawing paper and some charcoal. Let’s go ahead and just do some quick gesture drawings.” 

 

Duo knelt down and started to pull large pieces of newsprint from a black portfolio. He handed several pieces to each person, as well as a slim stick of black charcoal.

 

Their fingers brushed together as Trowa took the last piece of charcoal from Duo, and he looked up at the artist and saw his blue gaze fixed on him and the right corner of his mouth tilted upwards.

 

“Now, for this, let’s have Maggie give us a few poses, huh?” He whistled, and Maggie rolled over onto her back, legs up in the air.

 

Trowa let out a huff of laugher, and several others sounded amused as well.

 

“Okay - quick - draw my girl here. Use broad, confident strokes. Just a bit of-” Duo waved one hand through the air, his long fingers curved as if holding a piece of charcoal, moving up, down, curving, as though he were drawing.

 

Trowa shook his head at the man’s antics. He was definitely a showman.

 

He turned his attention away from Duo and to the paper on his easel, sketching out a few quick studies of the dog.

 

“Okay, new pose now.” Duo clapped his hands together, and Maggie stood up on her hind legs. “Quick, quick, she’s not quite as nimble as she used to be.”

 

Trowa spared a glance towards Quatre, and saw that the blond-haired man was frowning in concentration, sketching frantically.

 

Trowa had to smirk. It was rare that Quatre didn’t attempt something with immediate success, but drawing had always been a challenge for him, and sketching the dog was definitely not his forte.

 

Quatre saw him looking and rolled his eyes.

 

“Look at your own canvas. I know I’m doing a shitty job. No need for you to rub it in with your smirks.”

 

“You’re not doing a shitty job,” Trowa assured him. “You just need to drink more.”

 

Quatre considered, then shrugged and picked up his beer. He took a long sip.

 

“Okay, last pose, and then we’ll get Maggie set up for your masterpieces.” Duo clapped his hands again, and Maggie sat down and draped her left paw over her nose.

 

Even Quatre made a noise of appreciation at the pose. Trowa rolled his eyes and caught Duo grinning at him. They shared a brief head-shake and a smirk.

 

Duo gave them a few minutes to try to sketch Maggie in that last pose before he called a halt to their feverishly-moving hands.

 

“Good, good,” he said as he patrolled the outside of the ring, looking over everyone’s work. “Oh, this is great, you’ve really captured her good side here. Oh, and this - yes, look at that sassy tilt of her ears, perfect.” He kept delivering compliments like that, words that propped up the people who Trowa suspected were producing sketches that any life drawing instructor would shudder to look at, until he came to stand behind Trowa.

 

Duo folded one arm over his chest and propped his chin on the other, giving Trowa’s pages of sketches a long, silent moment of consideration.

 

“You’ve got some good line work going on here,” Duo said, finally moving and gesturing at the sketches. Trowa tried not to smirk in satisfaction at the praise. “But you need to loosen up. Relax - don’t be so uptight, and it’ll flow. Maybe have another beer or two before you start drawing her again.” Duo gave his shoulder a squeeze and moved off to keep delivering compliments.

 

Trowa refused to let himself sag in defeat.

 

But Quatre, damn him, was there at his side, smirking.

 

“Told you you needed to relax.”

 

“Fuck off,” Trowa muttered. But he picked up his beer and killed it in three sips.

 

-o-

 

Two hours later, the painting session was winding down, and Trowa knew he wasn’t the only ‘artist’ who had lost count of how many beers he had had. Four? Or Five. It  _ might _ have been six. 

 

He didn’t feel drunk, not really, but his face was flushed and his fingers were somewhere between tingly and numb, and he couldn’t stop grinning when Duo looked at him, or complimented him, or put his hand on Trowa’s shoulder while he pointed at his canvas, or smirked at him, or laughed and his eyes did that crinkling thing that really wasn’t fair. Not fair at all.

 

Quatre had stopped drinking after three beers, and the painting of Maggie that he had produced - with the beagle curled on the footstool with a painfully bright orange rubber chicken between her paws - actually wasn’t awful. A little disproportionate, but Quatre had even managed to get some shading in there and, after listening to Trowa’s advice on how to make it look like the rubber chicken was shiny, some highlight.

 

He looked proud of his work, and Trowa congratulated him, grinning at Quatre’s slightly flushed cheeks and his hair, which had finally defeated the gel and fell over his forehead in careless, defiant strands that made him look young and carefree.

 

Trowa’s own painting was fine. It was, actually, pretty good. He had even managed to capture Maggie’s large, intelligent brown eyes. The velvet of the footstool had been difficult, but in the end, he thought it wasn’t half bad.

 

He might have to put this up somewhere in his apartment. Maybe in the bathroom.

 

_ Or _ , he thought, and couldn’t help but smirk as the idea formed, he could hang it up in his office at work.

 

Perfect.

 

Trowa finished his beer and noticed that Duo was shaking hands with some of the others, thanking them and congratulating them and helping them figure out how to carry home their works of art.

 

He noticed that the brushes were just being shoved into a pitcher of water, and while that was  _ fine _ , Trowa couldn’t help but scowl.

 

He walked over to the pitcher, adding his own brushes, and picked it up. He collected Quatre’s as well.

 

“What are you doing?” Quatre asked him.

 

“I’m going to clean out the brushes. It’s not good for the ferrules to soak in water like this.”

 

Quatre’s lips twitched.

 

“Okay. I think Duo will take care of them when he’s done and-”

 

“Quatre, there are a lot of brushes here.”

 

Quatre’s eyes widened, and his lips compressed.

 

“That’s true,” he agreed after a moment.

 

Trowa looked past him and frowned.

 

“Do you think I can clean these in the bathroom?” Quatre had gone in, an hour or so ago, and had come back and sighed with relief when he told Trowa it was surprisingly clean.

 

Quatre shrugged. 

 

“I guess?”

 

“It would be better if there was a paint sink somewhere. Maybe the kitchen…”

 

“Trowa, I doubt the kitchen has a  _ paint _ sink.”

 

“No, but it’ll have,” Trowa gestured with his free hand, swirling his fingers around to make a circle and then spreading his fingers to try to demonstrate the holes in a drain.

 

“Uh huh,” Quatre agreed, nodding slowly. “You’re right. Let me ask the bartender.”

 

Trowa waited while Quatre walked over to the bar, said something that had the bartender laughing and gesturing towards Trowa, then towards Duo, and then laughing again before pointing towards the back of the bar.

 

Trowa followed that last gesture and saw a set of double doors that had to be the kitchen.

 

Quatre walked back to him.

 

“He said you can use the kitchen sink. It’s straight back that way.”

 

Trowa nodded. He wasn’t so drunk that he couldn’t have figured that out for himself.

 

“I need to head out - I’ll take your painting home with me, though.”

 

“You aren’t going to help me clean the brushes?” Trowa asked him.

 

“Um, no, Trowa. I am not going into the kitchen of a dive bar to wash out paint brushes. Sorry. Besides, I don’t want to be a third wheel.” Quatre winked, and Trowa frowned at him.

 

“You just don’t want to get your hands dirty.”

 

“That too. Absolutely that too. Oh - and you’re welcome.”

 

Before Trowa could ask what the hell Quatre was talking about, the blond-haired man was walking away, back to their easels, and carefully picking up their paintings.

 

Trowa shook his head and turned around, and started for the kitchen.

 

It was nearly empty, except for two kids who were in the middle of cleaning and, if Trowa had to guess, fumbling their way towards asking each other out on a date.

 

They gave him a look, but he just held up the pitcher of brushes, as if that meant something, and they shook their heads and pointed towards the sink in the back.

 

Trowa was halfway through the brushes when Duo came back to the kitchen.

 

“Hey, you don’t have to do this.” The man reached into the spray of water and tried to take the brush Trowa was holding out of his hands.

 

“It’s not good for the ferrules to soak in water,” Trowa argued, holding onto the brush.

 

“Dude, these brushes were like three dollars at Michael’s. They’re going to be fine. Seriously, I-”

 

“I miss washing out brushes,” Trowa said.

 

Duo’s hands fell away from his, and Trowa wished he hadn’t said anything. 

 

“Yeah?” Duo asked, and he picked up one of the brushes. He hip-checked Trowa to the side, so that he could work on cleaning out his own brush while Trowa slowly picked paint from the bristles of his.

 

“Yeah. I’m glad this wasn’t oil painting, though.”

 

Duo snorted.

 

“You and me both. I tried that once - and  _ I _ wasn’t drunk enough to survive. Never again.”

 

Trowa wondered just what disaster had befallen the artist, but he didn’t ask.

 

“You’re a painter?” Duo asked him. “Or you used to paint?”

 

“A little. In college. I was an art minor.”

 

“That’s cool. What was your major?”

 

“Chemistry.”

 

“Those two are a little different.”

 

Trowa shrugged.

 

“Maybe, but I’m better at chemistry.”

 

He could see Duo smirk, and he could see his eyes crinkle again. 

 

“I like when your eyes do that,” he said.

 

“Do what?” Duo turned his head to look directly at Trowa.

 

Trowa set aside the brush he was holding and ran his right forefinger over the corner of Duo’s left eye. Water trailed down from his finger and over Duo’s cheek.

 

“That. When they crinkle.”

 

“Oh. You mean when I look old.”

 

“No. When you look happy.”

 

Trowa’s finger was still on Duo’s face, and it felt entirely natural to fit his palm to the side of Duo’s face.

 

The other man was still looking up at him.

 

“Trowa.”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Are you going to kiss me, or are you just going to drip water on my face all night?”

 

Trowa hadn’t even considered the possibility. Well, he hadn’t considered the probability. No, he hadn’t-

 

“You want me to kiss you?”

 

“I mean, I’ve kind of been flirting with you all night, even though I wondered if you and Quatre were a thing-”

 

“We’re not.”

 

“Yeah. I picked up on that when he told me you were single and thought I was cute.”

 

“When did he say that?”

 

“When you went to the bar to get your third beer.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Well?” Duo prompted.

 

“Well, what?”

 

Duo rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that Trowa couldn’t make out.

 

And then he was grabbing Trowa’s collar and pulling him down and their lips were meeting, and Duo’s lips were soft and slightly chapped and his mouth was so warm and he smelled like paint and beer and something sharp - tea tree oil? Or maybe ginger or-

 

Duo sucked Trowa’s bottom lip between his own, and Trowa groaned, all need to define Duo’s scent abandoned as he let himself drown in the new sensation, as lust flared through his body. It felt like there were nerve endings that went right from his mouth to his groin.

 

Trowa moved his hand down Duo’s neck and shoulder, and then lower, over his side until he found the hard curve of his hip, and he pulled Duo closer, until their bodies were flush and Duo was fitted against him perfectly.

 

Trowa tilted his head, trying to find the right angle to coax Duo’s mouth open further. He teased with his tongue, and Duo opened to him, hands reaching up to wrap around Trowa’s neck.

 

He ignored the drip of water down the back of his shirt, and focused instead on Duo’s mouth, on his tongue and his teeth, and he wondered what it would feel like to have that hot, perfect mouth on his cock. What it would feel like to-

 

“Jesus fucking Christ, Maxwell.”

 

They broke apart, Trowa slowly and groggily, Duo with more speed.

 

Standing in the doorway was the bartender, a scowl on his face.

 

“Sorry, Alex.”

 

“Dude, you like down the street. And this kitchen - this is not where you want to hook up with hot, drunk dudes. Trust me. I’ve done it. And I’m never going to get that stain out of my jeans.”

 

Trowa grimaced at the words and the mental image they conjured.

 

Duo muttered something under his breath, reached out to turn off the water and grabbed the brushes that had already been cleaned, and then grabbed Trowa’s hand.

 

“Wait, there’s still more brushes to-”

 

“Leave them. I’ll get them tomorrow.”

 

Trowa looked back at the pitcher beside the sink and all of the slim handles that had been abandoned.

 

“Come on,” Duo tugged him away, and Trowa allowed the other man to pull him out of the kitchen.

 

He was surprised to see that the easels had been cleared away and that the bar was now crowded, loud music playing over the speakers and no signs of the art class remaining.

 

Trowa felt very lost for a moment.

 

“You want me to call you a cab?” Duo asked. “Your friend said you’d need a ride home.”

 

Trowa frowned.

 

“Why did he leave me here?”

 

“I think his plan was to get you laid. But you’re a little too drunk for my tastes.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Duo rolled his eyes.

 

“It’s nothing personal - but I’m not taking a guy I just met home when he probably doesn’t even remember my damn name.”

 

“Duo Maxwell.”

 

Duo grinned.

 

“Okay, I’ll give you points for that. But-”

 

Trowa kissed him.

 

“I’m not that drunk,” Trowa assured him.

 

“What?” Duo looked a little dazed.

 

“I remember your name. What happened to your dog?”

 

Duo laughed, and even through the clamor of the bar, Trowa could clearly hear the sound. It sent a pleasant shiver down his spine, and he smiled. Duo had a nice laugh. Trowa liked the way Duo looked at him, half-amused, half-aroused. It was a good combination. Trowa could get used to it.

 

“Take me home. I promise I won’t be uptight.”

 

“You promise, huh?”

 

Trowa nodded and crossed his heart.

 

Duo laughed again.

 

“Fine. Maggie’s outside with the bouncer. Come on.”

 

Duo threaded their fingers together, and the press of his callouses against Trowa’s skin felt amazing.

 

They winded their way through the crowds until they made it outside. Trowa took in a deep breath of the cool, night air.

 

Duo collected his dog from the bouncer, and then turned back to Trowa.

 

“If you vomit on the walk back, I’m giving you water and aspirin and putting you in a cab.”

 

“That sounds fair,” Trowa nodded. “I won’t vomit.”

 

“We’ll see.”

 

Trowa didn’t vomit. 

 

And as a reward, while Trowa stood in Duo’s kitchen and drank two glasses of water to chase down the aspirin and Tums that Duo pressed into his hand, Duo knelt in front of him, peeled down Trowa’s trousers and his briefs, and gave him an amazing blowjob, marred only by how quickly Trowa came.

 

After, when Duo had had a glass of water himself and they had worked together to remove the rest of Trowa’s clothing and all of Duo’s, Duo led him to the bedroom.

 

“I’m not too tired to go down on you,” Trowa assured Duo.

 

“What?”

 

“I won’t fall asleep in the middle of giving you a blowjob. I promise.”

 

“Hm. What about in the middle of me fucking you?”

 

The words, the look in Duo’s eyes, the crook of his mouth, made Trowa’s throat go dry and his cock twitch.

 

“I won’t fall asleep while you fuck me,” he said, and shook his head for emphasis. The world felt a bit tilty, so he decided not to do that again. 

 

“Jesus. You’re so drunk. I should-”

 

“I’m not. I can say the alphabet in binary. I’m not too drunk.”

 

“You can  _ what _ ?” Duo laughed, and dragged Trowa down onto the bed.

 

“Zero one zero zero zero zero zero one. Zero one zero zero zero zero one zero. Zero-”

 

“Fuck. I believe you. Come here.” Duo pulled Trowa’s mouth to his and they kissed again, tongues twining even as their hands caressed each other. 

 

Trowa found his hands drawn to Duo’s hips, the press of his pelvis against his skin and the slight curve. 

 

Duo stroked his perineum, and Trowa gasped into his mouth, parting his legs wider, desperate for Duo to explore more of him.

 

One finger pressed at his entrance, light and teasing.

 

Trowa pulled away from the kiss.

 

“Please. Fuck me.”

 

“Please, huh?” Duo’s grin was a little wicked. 

 

“Yes. Please,” Trowa repeated.

 

Duo reached across Trowa and fumbled for something in a drawer of the nightstand. A moment later, Duo was thumbing open a small tube and spreading lube over his fingers.

 

Trowa shifted his legs wide in anticipation, and Duo’s eyes crinkled again.

 

“You’re fucking beautiful, Trowa,” Duo said as he ran one cool finger from Trowa’s balls to his entrance.

 

Trowa shivered and pressed down.

 

“Beautiful. And desperate for my dick.”

 

“Yes,” Trowa agreed, and then sighed when Duo slipped one finger into him. It had been awhile, and he felt the faint burn of his muscles stretching. He had forgotten how good that was. 

 

Duo worked in a second finger, and then he curved them, searching, thrusting into Trowa until-

 

Trowa gripped the sheets and shuddered.

 

“Right there?” Duo asked.

 

Trowa nodded.

 

“Yes,” he managed. “Yes.”

 

Duo continued to fuck him with just two fingers, stroking against that knot of tension and pleasure until Trowa was well and truly desperate for his dick.

 

“Fuck me,” he begged again.

 

“I am,” Duo said.

 

“Your dick. I want your dick.”

 

“Ask nicely.”

 

“Please. Fuck me with your dick.”

 

Duo kissed him again, almost before the words were out of Trowa’s mouth. He swallowed Trowa’s disappointed groan as Duo’s fingers left him, but then he heard Duo opening a condom, felt him roll it over his cock.

 

“You sure you want this?” Duo asked breathlessly.

 

“Yes.” Trowa lifted one leg, and Duo grinned again as he positioned it against his shoulder. He nipped Trowa’s calf, and then focused on aligning his cock with Trowa’s entrance.

 

He slid inside in one slow, smooth motion that left both of them frozen for a moment, unable to move or breathe or think.

 

“Fuck, you feel good,” Duo muttered.

 

Trowa made a sound of agreement. Duo filled him nearly to the point of being  _ too _ much. 

 

And then Duo moved, pulling out and then snapping his hips forwards, and Trowa saw stars. He grabbed Duo’s hip in one hand, and steadied his other against the headboard behind him.

 

“Okay?” Duo asked.

 

Trowa nodded eagerly, and Duo was back to grinning at him.

 

“Good. Tell me if that changes.”

 

Duo’s pace was slow, teasing, as he alternated short, sharp strokes with long, leisurely ones. It was maddening, and Trowa found himself trying, and failing, to alter Duo’s pace. 

 

It wasn’t until he started to stroke his own cock, his grip firm and movements quick, efficient, that Duo seemed to lose his composure.

 

Trowa heard his breath catch, saw Duo’s eyes drift from his face to his dick, and his movements became less measured, less teasing and more powerful, more desperate.

 

And then they were both gasping, fingers digging into each other’s flesh, and Duo’s eyes squeezed shut as he thrust deeper into Trowa, hips shuddering and throat working, and then he was crying out in pleasure and relief.

 

Trowa was close, so close - but then Duo pushed his hand away and knelt over him, taking Trowa’s cock into his mouth again, and he came immediately. He had to shove his fist into his mouth to keep from shouting at the unexpected and overwhelming pleasure.

 

Duo continued to lap at him, gently, soothing Trowa back down to earth after the intense orgasm.

 

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Trowa said when Duo finally moved away.

 

Duo, in the middle of taking off the condom, laughed.

 

He leaned over Trowa and kissed him.

 

Trowa could taste himself on Duo’s tongue, and he smirked at that.

 

“You didn’t,” Duo agreed. “But you’re welcome to fall asleep now.”

 

“You want me to stay?”

 

“How else am I going to see how sex with you sober compares?”

 

-o-

 

TBC

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  


_ Singularity _

 

Chapter Two

 

Trowa stretched, arms wide and toes curling, and he sighed contentedly and curled around the pillow to his left.

 

He felt good, warm, and his body just  _ this _ side of achy, and he didn’t want to open his eyes just yet.

 

But then the bed shifted and-

 

Something cold and wet nudged against his arm, and Trowa cautiously opened his eyes.

 

And found himself looking into the dark brown eyes of Maggie the beagle.

 

She wedged her way under his arm, and wiggled until she could reach his chin with her tongue.

 

Trowa had to laugh even as he tried to roll away from her.

 

She followed, tongue on the attack, and Trowa eventually managed to save himself by wrapping her in his arms and rubbing her belly.

 

“I’m starting to feel jealous.”

 

Trowa looked away from the dog and saw Duo leaning against the doorframe, steaming mug in one hand, hair loose around his shoulders, completely naked.

 

Last night, Trowa hadn’t had the chance to really admire Duo’s body. It had been dark in the apartment, with only the street lights shining into the kitchen and bedroom windows to illuminate him.

 

Duo’s chest was framed by a tattoo, curving below his collarbones and running from one shoulder to the other.  It was a chain of spheres connected by a thin black line, and each of the nine spheres was shaded with dashed lines. All but two - one was an empty ring, and the other solid black.

 

It took Trowa a moment to realize it was a tattoo of the phases of the moon, and when he looked lower and saw an astronaut floating over Duo’s belly button, it made him smirk.

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

Trowa’s gaze had started to drift farther south, to the thatch of light brown curls and Duo’s cock, but he looked back at Duo’s face when he spoke.

 

Duo was smirking now, and he lifted his mug to take a sip from it.

 

“Fine,” Trowa answered honestly. The water and medication Duo had plied him with last night had made a surprising difference. Trowa still wasn’t sure how much he had had to drink, but it had been on a relatively empty stomach after weeks of little sleep. 

 

“Good. Do you drink coffee?”

 

“Yes. Of course. I’m human.”

 

Duo laughed and walked into the room. He set the mug down on the nightstand beside Trowa, and then leaned down and pressed a light kiss to Trowa’s lips.

 

He started to pull away, but Trowa reached out, wrapping a strand of Duo’s hair around his fingers, and gently tugged him back.

 

Duo chuckled, but let Trowa pull him down. He opened his mouth, and Trowa could taste coffee and Duo’s smirk.

 

Maggie gave a disgruntled yelp and rolled off of Trowa’s belly, kicking him in the process.

 

He let out a surprised  _ oof, _ and Duo chuckled, the sound dark and warm and sexy as hell.

 

“You okay?” Duo asked, smoothing one hand over Trowa’s side and then moving lower, even as he kissed along his jaw and then his throat, nipping at Trowa’s skin and chuckling again when Trowa arched up.

 

“Very okay,” Trowa assured him, and then groaned when Duo’s palm found his cock.

 

Duo propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Trowa, still smirking, and curled his hand around Trowa’s cock, slowly working him to a full erection, until Trowa was thrusting up into Duo’s grip.

 

“Want to fuck me?” Duo asked. For all that he  _ looked _ confident and amused, his voice was low and rough.

 

“Yes,” Trowa moaned, and then he pulled Duo in for another kiss, maneuvering Duo over his body and running his hands down Duo’s back and to his ass. 

 

He felt Duo’s hard length against his own, felt Duo grind down against him, and he gripped Duo’s ass, squeezing the cheeks apart and letting his fingers tease at Duo’s entrance.

 

“Fuck yes, Tro,” Duo moaned.

 

“Condom. Lube.”

 

Trowa continued to tease Duo, one finger circling the ring of muscle and pressing gently against it.

 

Duo made a low, pleased sound in the back of his throat, and then, looking reluctant, he eased away from Trowa to find the supplies Trowa had requested.

 

“Like this?” Duo asked, sitting down on Trowa’s thighs and teasing Trowa’s cock with the cleft between his cheeks.

 

“Yes.” Trowa thrust upwards, and Duo smirked. “Please,” he added, and Duo’s smirk turned into a wicked grin.

 

Duo prepped himself, slick fingers brushing against Trowa as he writhed, head tossed back and long neck exposed to Trowa’s greedy eyes. 

 

He was breathtaking, fucking himself with those long, talented fingers, his eyes wide and locked with Trowa’s, his mouth curved into an open smirk, one corner lifted and puffs of air, gasps of pleasure, escaping as he plunged deep into his own body.

 

Trowa was content to lie under him, to run his hands along Duo’s flanks, up his sides, to pinch his nipples and trace over his tattoos. He almost wanted Duo to get himself off, Trowa’s cock nestled between his thighs, but then Duo handed him the wrapped condom and Trowa abandoned the idea.

 

It would be nice, but he wanted even more to bury himself in Duo’s body, to feel the cling of his heat and strength, and lose himself.

 

Trowa rolled the condom down his shaft, and then Duo squeezed a liberal amount of lube onto him and worked it over the length, squeezing slightly, renewing Trowa’s desire to fuck him, and then Duo guided Trowa to his entrance.

 

He let Duo impale himself, and enjoyed the deliciously slow slide, the impossible perfection of Duo’s body taking him in, and he sighed when Duo was fully seated, ass on Trowa’s thighs.

 

“Fucking hell,” Duo breathed. His face and chest were flushed, and his loose hair obscured Trowa’s view of his face.

 

Trowa reached up to push it aside, and his fingers tangled in it.

 

He and Duo laughed as they worked Trowa’s hand free, and then Duo tossed his hair over one shoulder and leaned down to kiss Trowa again.

 

Their tongues met, tangling and caressing, and then Duo started to move.

 

Slowly at first, lifting his hips and then easing back down, almost seeming unsure of himself.

 

Trowa reached between them and found Duo’s cock, neglected and wet with precum. He smoothed the bead of moisture over the head and down the shaft, his fingers gliding through Duo’s curls and then curving around his balls. He gave a gentle squeeze, and Duo groaned into his mouth.

 

Trowa pulled away from the kiss.

 

“Fuck me,” he begged.

 

Duo’s eyes, inches from his, were nearly black. 

 

“I am,” Duo panted.

 

Trowa thrust his hips up, meeting Duo’s downward motion, and Duo grunted.

 

“No, you aren’t,” Trowa argued. “ _ Fuck _ me. Please.”

 

He used his free hand to pinch Duo’s left nipple, and he arched back, ass shifting and drawing Trowa even deeper into his body, and they both moaned in pleasure at the new angle.

 

“Christ,” Duo breathed, but he started to move more freely, rising and falling with greater force, Trowa’s cock spearing into him with each downward motion.

 

Trowa continued to fondle Duo’s cock and balls, keeping his grip light, caressing him while Duo rode him.

 

The room was silent except for the sounds of their flesh meeting, the mingling of their ragged breathing, and Duo’s occasional explosive gasps when Trowa’s cock found that place deep in his body.

 

“Yes,” Duo moaned. “Fuck, yes, Tro. Just- like that.” 

 

Trowa had to shift, had to raise one knee to help keep Duo balanced and make sure he kept finding the right angle, but watching Duo dive into his climax, eyes shut and mouth open, head thrown back and throat working with a silent cry, Trowa was pretty sure he would be willing to contort himself into whatever position was necessary to achieve that again.

 

Trowa continued to thrust into Duo, slowly, gently, letting him come back down from his orgasm. He could feel Duo’s body relax, nearly boneless, but still he drew Trowa deep, holding him tight.

 

“Fuck, your cock is nice,” Duo chuckled.

 

“Yours too,” Trowa assured him, remembering the night before.

 

Duo grinned.

 

“Lucky us.”

 

Trowa put his hands on Duo’s hips and then shifted them, slowly rolling over in the bed so that Duo was under him.

 

Duo arched an eyebrow at him, and Trowa gave a deeper thrust.

 

“Okay?” he asked.

 

Duo nodded, eyes still glazed.

 

“Mm, yes,” Duo breathed when Trowa thrust again. His arms came up around Trowa’s shoulders, clinging to him as Trowa sought his own pleasure in Duo’s body. 

 

Duo felt amazing wrapped around him, muscles shifting under his smooth skin and breath stirring Trowa’s hair, fingers digging into his shoulders, urging Trowa on with muttered words and sharp intakes of breath.

 

By the time Trowa felt the building heat and pressure of release, Duo’s cock was hard again, trapped between their bodies and rubbing against Trowa’s stomach with every movement.

 

He tried to work a hand between them, but Duo stopped him, taking hold of his hand and bringing it to his head.

 

Trowa tangled his fingers in the long strands and kissed Duo, shouting his release into the other man’s mouth.

 

-o-

 

Duo’s coffee had gone cold by the time they felt like moving again.

 

While Duo put on another pot, Trowa took a shower, standing under the hot spray and closing his eyes, and just enjoying the feeling of being rested and sated.

 

Duo joined him after a few minutes, smirking and teasing, but they managed to clean themselves without too much derailment, and by the time they were dry, Trowa felt more alive than he had in months.

 

He hated to admit that Quatre had been right, but he had been. Trowa had needed some time away. Had needed to relax, and had needed mind-blowing sex.

 

Well, maybe he hadn’t  _ needed _ the sex, but he was extremely grateful for it. And for Duo’s invitation to stay for breakfast.

 

Since it was pushing noon, Trowa offered to make them grilled cheese sandwiches to accompany the eggs Duo was scrambling.

 

They worked side by side, silent, trading smirks and casual, flirtatious touches.

 

Trowa didn’t date much - he had a bad habit of putting work first and forgetting he even had a life to put second, most days. Quatre had tried, over the years, to set Trowa up, with varying success. But for the most part, Trowa didn’t mind his mostly solitary existence. 

 

Still, there was something unexpectedly comforting about cooking with Duo, occupying the same space as another person - even if that person was still very much a stranger.

 

“So,” Duo finally broke the silence when they sat down at the island in his kitchen to eat, “what do you do when you aren’t painting beagles and going home with strangers?”

 

Trowa arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“Maybe that’s all I do with my time.”

 

Duo snorted.

 

“No, it’s not. I’m the only guy in Boston who teaches art classes at a bar and paints beagles - and I’ve never met you before. There’s a wine thing uptown, but it’s all flower arrangements and skyline shit.”

 

“Not really my thing,” Trowa said.

 

“No? The instructor’s pretty easy on the eyes.”

 

Trowa raked his over Duo’s body. They had both put clothes on after their shower, Duo clean jeans and a thankfully logoless gray t-shirt, while Trowa had donned his clothes from last night.

 

“You don’t exactly strain my eyesight.”

 

“You calling me easy?”

 

Trowa’s lips twitched, but he didn’t respond. It felt safer not to.

 

Duo huffed and took a bite of his sandwich.

 

“I’m a chemist at Winner Labs,” Trowa told him.

 

Duo arched an eyebrow.

 

“Never heard of them - pharmaceutical stuff?”

 

Trowa shook his head, and then frowned. Winner Labs was a large company, with branches in several countries, and Trowa realized for the first time that he knew very little about the company outside of his own department.

 

“Not my department. We’re mostly focused on nano-tech.”

 

“Nano-tech?” Duo echoed, and raised both eyebrows. “Sounds like some sci-fi shit.”

 

Trowa had to smirk. It was, in a lot of ways, science fiction shit. That was part of what made his work so exciting. Well, exciting when he wasn’t being taunted by his own inability to move forward on a project.

 

“Kind of. We use nanotube carbon to make devices, coatings-”

 

He could see that Duo had no idea what he was talking about and stopped himself.

 

“Sorry,” he amended, and shrugged. “It’s complicated.”

 

“No, I mean, I’m sure it is. It sure as fuck sounds complicated. I’ve just never heard of nanotube carbon before,” Duo looked a little sheepish. “I’m just an artist.”

 

Trowa frowned.

 

“You probably have heard of nanotube carbon before, then. As  _ just _ an artist.”

 

Duo tilted his head.

 

“Have I?” His lips curved slightly, and it was an effort for Trowa not to lean across the table and kiss him. 

 

“Vantablack?” Trowa prompted.

 

Duo’s brows drew together in a frown.

 

“No shit. That’s- Huh. Of course I know about Vantablack and that asshat Kapoor.”

 

“Not a fan?”

 

“Of a guy who managed to get an exclusive patent to be the only artist in the world to use the blackest black paint? No, no, I’m not a fan.” Duo sneered and shook his head.

 

“Vanta is the acronym for vertically aligned nanotube array.”

 

“Mm, keep talking dirty to me,” Duo smirked. “This is almost as sexy as you trying to recite the alphabet in binary.”

 

Trowa winced at the reminder. He had hoped that he had dreamt doing that - or that Duo had forgotten about it. The amused flash in his blue eyes made it clear that Duo wasn’t going to forget about it any time soon, however.

 

“So you make stuff like that?” Duo asked.

 

“Trying to,” Trowa sighed. “Vanta is like a culture of bacteria - you have to cultivate it on a surface and then cure it with heat.”

 

“Sounds tricky.”

 

“It is. Because of the heat - Vantablack has to be heated to four hundred degrees Celsius - it limits the applications.”

 

“Hm. So what does the heat do? Incubate the culture or…”

 

“Sort of. Without being heated, the pigment will just wipe right off. It needs to bind to the surface and heat...”

 

Trowa trailed off as he suddenly realized.

 

He was such an  _ idiot _ .

 

He had been struggling for months, trying to develop a Vanta pigment that they could apply to materials at a lower temperature than Vantablack, and he had been wracking his brain to figure out how to temper the surfaces to withstand high temperature, but in reality-

 

_ Why _ did it have to be heat? Why did it have to be heat-cured? What did heat do that another process wouldn’t?

 

Trowa had been so fixated on what Vantablack needed that he hadn't even considered-

 

“Tro? You okay there?”

 

Duo’s voice momentarily derailed his thoughts.

 

“What?”

 

“You kind of zoned out there.”

 

“Yeah. Sorry. Look, I have to go.”

 

Duo stared at him, mouth open and eyes disbelieving.

 

“What?”

 

“I- I need to get to work.”

 

“It’s Saturday morning.”

 

“I know. The lab will be empty. And I’ve finally-” Trowa got up from his seat and kissed Duo. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome?” Duo looked caught between amusement and irritation.

 

Trowa picked up his plate, sparing the half-eaten food a single, guilty look, before searching for a trash can.

 

Duo sighed.

 

“Oh, just leave it. It’s fine,” he added when Trowa frowned. “Go.”

 

Trowa found his shoes by the door, and pulled them on while balanced against the wall, mind racing as he considered what to try.

 

He felt so stupid for assuming heat was the only way to bind the pigment.

 

“Don’t forget your phone.”

 

Trowa looked over to see Duo holding it up for him.

 

“Thanks.” He crossed back to the other man. “Thank you for everything.”

 

“Happy to help. Give me a call the next time you need some inspiration,” Duo smirked, and Trowa huffed a laugh.

 

He leaned down and brushed his lips over Duo’s, just a light caress, but then Duo’s lips parted and his hands wrapped around Trowa’s waist.

 

Trowa eased between his legs and gave into the urge to tangle his hands in Duo’s hair one last time.

 

He wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, but it definitely wasn’t long enough.

 

When they both pulled away, Duo’s lips were swollen and his eyes dark. Trowa was sure his own matched.

 

“See you around,” Duo said, and gave Trowa a gentle nudge.

 

“See you.”

 

As soon as Trowa was on the street, he called an Uber. And then he called his assistant.

 

“Trowa?”

 

Hilde sounded disgruntled, and almost as though she had still been asleep.

 

“Hilde. Get up. Meet me at the lab.”

 

She groaned.

 

“The boss said you’re banned from the lab on weekends.”

 

“I know. But you aren’t.”

 

“That’s not fair! Trowa- Trowa, do you know how I spent the night?”

 

“I don’t. But I know how you’re going to spend the afternoon.”

 

“But- Trowa, come  _ on _ . We’ve been working our asses off for months. and we’re no closer to making Singularity work than we were three months ago and-”

 

“I know. But that’s because we’re idiots.”

 

She huffed.

 

“Speak for yourself. I’m fucking brilliant.  _ And _ I finally convinced Sylvia to come home with me. Trowa, Trowa, I am in bed with the girl of my dreams. Do you  _ really _ want to ruin my chance at true love?”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes.

 

“I need your key card. I can be at your place in twenty minutes. Can you drag yourself away from Sylvia long enough to hand it off?”

 

“Maybe. If you bring us bagels.”

 

“Hilde.”

 

“Oh, and cream cheese. What kind do you want, babe?”

 

Trowa rolled his eyes at the sound of muffled conversation.

 

“She wants strawberry. But I want the honey-walnut kind. Oh, and don’t forget to have them toast the bagels. And-”

 

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes,” Trowa said, and hung up before she could give him any more instructions.

 

By the time his Uber arrived, Trowa was rifling through possibilities in his mind, and he absent-mindedly told the driver Hilde's address as he dug through his pockets, desperately searching for a scrap of paper and a pen.

 

_ What if... _

  
  
  


-o-

 

End notes

 

1.Anish Kapoor is an artist who actually (IMO) does some cool things but when Vantablack came out he managed to get the patent for it in artistic use, meaning no one else can use it for art (it’s mostly used for military and tech things). Anyway, this kind of sparked this… pigment war? And Stewart Semple made a pink that was supposed to be the brightest hottest pink ever and he said that ANYONE could use it - except Kapoor. But somehow Kapoor got ahold of it and posted a photo of his middle finger dipped in the pink on Twitter and so yeah. Semple released a Black 2.0 which is supposed to be similar to Vantablack, but since it’s more of a paint, definitely isn’t AS black as Vantablack.

 

2.The way that Vanta pigments work: Imagine velvet. You know how it is a high pile, which is to say, all those little fibers that stick up? Have you ever seen really good velvet and how the light just gets totally absorbed? That’s basically what Vanta pigments do. You have this little forest of vertically aligned nanotubes and light hits one and then gets bounced to another and so on and so on, until eventually the light is absorbed and released as heat - but it doesn’t REFLECT any light. Well, it reflects something like .003% of light, which is practically none to the human eye. So it’s the literal opposite of shiny.

 

3.The science I’m talking about is mostly accurate, but as far as Nanolabs, the REAL lab that created Singularity black, and their process, I’m making it up. So don’t reference this fanfic in any scholarly journals on Vanta pigments please.

  
  



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